


I See Me In You

by iwritetragedynotsins



Category: HE BEATS HER (Visual Novel)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetragedynotsins/pseuds/iwritetragedynotsins
Summary: Being a time-traveler lawyer can be isolating, especially when the love of your life left you and many other people broken and stumbling around on glass shards.
Relationships: Lawyer & Client, Previous Lawyer/Gianna
Kudos: 4





	I See Me In You

He tried so many times to get this case right, but the full story is still obfuscated like a wall of dense fog curtaining the window, preventing him from looking at the full scenery: there is always this one piece missing, something else strewn about and he doesn’t know which nook or corner to look to for answers.

His medication is not helping him concentrate either ( _he is tired - this bone-deep weariness is eating him inside, gnawing on his guts)_.

He still needs to try, though. It is his job, and his client is depending on him. God, his _client._ Whenever he looks at him it is like he is staring into a mirror. The familiar pain in his black eyes hurts his heart terribly. The fact that he is working on a domestic abuse case where it seems that the _man_ is the victim is threading another string prone to entanglement into this case, making it all _personal._ A lawyer must always be an impartial observer. The ability to detach oneself from cases is a necessity. 

For the fifth (sixth? seventh?) rewind, when he had slipped into the tunnel that cuts through the space-time continuum, leaving him more drained of mental energy, something broke inside of him as he sat on his chair in the court. The room is paneled with dark woods - it feels like a coffin, too tight and too musty, and the apathetic gaze of the magistrate and the fidgeting figure of the plaintiff. Gianna’s singing fills the air, making the whole world lose its color and sharpness - it is too much. Too much.

“Hey, are you alright? You are breathing very heavily.” The worried voice of his client (what is his _name?_ Gianna laughter roils across his mind like a wrathful thunder: “Idiot. You don’t know names now, and you call yourself a lawyer?”) pushes its way into his hazy mind.

He closes his eyes. When he opens them again hot drops of water trails down his face. He looks at his client and sees himself in those obsidian eyes again. The crumpled, worn appearance reminds him of paper origami (fragile, but yet beautiful), and the warm empathy writ on his face makes him cry harder. He couldn't stop. Gianna _is_ right. He is _pathetic._ An idiot of the worst kind. He put his face into his hands, trying to block out the concerned murmurs from the jurors. Shame reddens his neck and ears.

He feels a warm weight on his head. His client is petting his head. He looks up, his breath hitches a bit in his throat. His eyes crinkle, crow’s feet manifesting at the corner of his eyes; his smile soft and sweet: “It will be alright.” His hands are now softly touching his spine, rubbing small circles in a soothing rhythm. The lawyer’s heart stops in his chest. Everyone is against his client, his life is practically crumbling down, and yet he is comforting his lawyer, the one who is supposed to be his shield- his _defendant -_ in his small unwarranted pity-party session? What is wrong with him? (“ _Pathetic."_ She sneers)

Her haunting singing reigns over his mind once more.

They lost the case.

Again. He needs to try again. He has to be strong for him. But whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the same damn red-hair, flickering like flames.

\---

He had figured out the missing piece. The phone screen flashes bright in his shaking hand. Nausea, acting like gravity, pulls down his stomach. Their conversation was recorded on his phone. He did it.

Gianna is behind all this. The puppeteer controlling the strings - orchestrating the destruction of his client _and_ his abusive ex-girlfriend. He got the evidence. He had saved them.

He will see her in court next.

\---

A few months after the case was solved, he met him once again. 

\---

He trudges laboriously through the dim spider-webbed alleyways of the city. He has not taken a single sip of alcohol for many years, but if one were to see him right now, they will postulate from his gait and flushed face that he is downright hammered. Well, with being dosed on a couple of pills and a whole week of insomnia, they wouldn’t be wrong to say that. Maybe he should start drinking, if only to feel the residual warmth the sharp taste leaves him with.

No, a hot shower session can remedy that needful feeling.

He has not turned back in time for a good long time, too. It kills his mind to do any of that anymore. And maybe, just maybe his mind can heal from the years of abuse it had to do deal with for so many of his cases. He wonders when this ability appeared. Was it middle-school? High-school? It does not matter, he suppose, and continues his midnight walk under the acidic light from the lamps and the soft glow of the moon.

( _It does get lonely when he can’t explain the experiences he has - he tried once, he was mocked, which he had expected. But then he can’t also explain that he had been hurt by the woman he loved, and this is different from the time-traveling curse he is bestowed with. Men like him experienced the same thing, he knows it - but he was mocked, and that, that is infuriating. Sadly, he doesn’t have the embers to spark his ire, not like Gianna.)_

He hopes he can drown out his emotions tonight.

“Hey do I know you?” A mirthful voice asks him. The lawyer pinpoints the source of the voice and sees a black-haired man walking towards him, a smile evident on his face. “I have seen you once. Perhaps somewhere in a certain courtroom.” Ah, it is him. His former client wraps his arm around him in an embrace, the close contact with another person shocks his heart wildly, he hugs back in a hunger for skinship. He doesn’t call himself pathetic for wanting it.

“How have you been? Are you also fond of midnight walks like me?” His joking manner is like a balm to his frazzled state of mind. He says yes, he has been well more or less. They talk for a while and he found out that he changed his contact number the day after they won the case. He is pretty much a ghost on the Internet, preferring books to social media. He now knows that he still feels bad that his ex-girlfriend was played by Gianna, too. A few minutes more and he belatedly realized his irritation at their conversations which has been skating upon supercilious small talk. He never had thought about his hollow desperation for someone to actually talk with, someone who may not understand his experience entirely, but a part of it, and that is all he can ask for. He helplessly watches as the ending of their conversation draws to a close. 

“Bye. I am really glad I got to meet you.” He hesitates a second before waving a farewell. His figure recedes back to the shadows and city lights, never to be seen again. His heart sinks. 

_No, no, no!_ **Come** **back**.

He warps back through the tunnel. He strips out of his physical form, forcing his soul through a cosmic blender. And there: he is back. His vision is losing focus. His head thrumming with all kinds of pain.

“Woah.” He falls into his arms, his mouth salivating as a caution for the vomit he feels stirring in the back of his throat. Tears prick his eyes. A hand is rubbing small circles on his back, then he hears a chuckle. “I don’t know why, this may sound weird, but I feel like I’ve seen you cry before. But not in my arms. Are you alright?” He responds with a shaky _maybe_ , but his voice got muffled against his neck. _Argh, stop being like this._ Immediately, he pulls back, the warmth from his body fading quickly as well.

“Did it ever stop hurting?” He blurts out. He stops and stutters, his ears turning red before belaboring his question. “After she - she hurt you, did you find a way to heal?”

“I...Hmm...I have been going to therapy; I will not say I have _healed_ , rather I am _healing.”_ His gaze is unreadable as he looks at the lawyer. “She damaged me, but she didn’t ruin me.”

It is his turn to smile. “That is good. That is all I wanted to hear, re- really.” His voice cracks. And it is true, he really is glad. _I have never healed. It’s been ten years and I never became whole._

 _"_ I wanted to ask you about your court case against Gianna. Really, though, I want to know how you are dealing with all this."

He gives the lawyer the same sweet soft smile he had given him that day. “As a matter of fact. why don't you tell me all about it at my home? Have some midnight tea with me.” His black eyes sparkles like the ocean reflecting the night veil of shimmering stars. He accepts his offer. He needs this, he needs to spill out the dirty emotions he has been harboring.

He closes his eyes. He doesn't see the vicious red of her hair, but the ephemeral ebullience of the moon, his soft sweet smile, and both his mind and heart is suddenly calm. 

This is a step towards healing, a baby-step, but a step nonetheless. He can do this. He needs to be strong. For himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is based off on a game Angela He created, this is not meant to gain profit. It simply serves for entertainment.
> 
> Here is the game: https://zephyo.itch.io/he-beat-her


End file.
